Free DEATHLOOP by G. Brailey Page A

had now been split into four to accommodate more staff. Patrick and another security guard, Gus, were always called upon to set up the vast table here whenever it was required, and Patrick very much enjoyed the task. For a few moments, while he was grappling with the huge pieces of wood he felt indispensable to the organization. Geoff had often commended Patrick, telling him that he had never seen the boardroom table assembled with such speed and with such dexterity, assuring him that as long as he worked at Emerson Buildings it would always be his own special job.
    This pleased Patrick no end and he often mentioned the accolade when writing to Genevieve in Awka Etiti. He also told his wife that setting up the table on the 9 th floor was not his job really, and by rights he could have refused to do it especially as Geoff Turner did not offer him a penny piece for his endeavours, but Patrick did not mind too much because it was another skill that he could list on his CV for future employment opportunities.
    Geoff’s assistant, suburban, clumpy, super reliable Sharon Pearce, with droopy hemlines and droopy hair to match, checked the table for the tenth time: water, fruit, tissues, pens and paper, all present and correct. Coffee and pastries would arrive soon and she had ordered very elaborate sandwiches from the caterers in case things went on a bit, which they tended to do. Sharon smiled up at Zack and Sam as they took their seats opposite the Wahlbergs and their accountancy team, Jack and Simon Sugarman. They were ready to go.
    The Wahlbergs were big guns in the city, and were Nyman’s most influential clients, recently poached from arch rivals, Standard Rich and Company. They had an extensive property portfolio, commercial and residential, and were intending to move into retail with the acquisition of a string of shopping malls in the States. They needed a restructuring package, and had approached Nyman’s to get them the best deal. Geoff had asked Zack to step up to the plate and had filled the Wahlbergs in on Zack’s myriad talents, confident they would be duly impressed by their star player. For their part the Wahlbergs were aware of Zack’s reputation and were happy to have him batting for their side, keen to hear what he could come up with.
    The Wahlberg brothers, Francis and Clive, were in their fifties and had taken over the business from their father Aldo, who still took an interest in the company and who was here today just to see what Nyman’s had to offer. Aldo was nearly 80 now, but still sprightly with twinkling blue eyes that did not miss a trick. Francis was the intellectual, an opera buff and an expert on Japanese ceramics. Terminally pedantic and penny pinching, (he had been known to cross London on public transport to get a few pence off a pair of shoes). He had an assistant, Marjorie White, who had been with him for years, some said because she was actually too frightened to leave. Clive just rode roughshod over everyone. He prided himself on his ruthlessness, ruthlessness was next to Godliness in his book. He was always bragging about his hospitality boxes at Arsenal and Chelsea, but for the most part, he sat in them alone.
    Both Francis and Clive were divorced. Francis despised women almost as much as he despised homosexuals so he preferred to remain solitary now with three standard poodles for company. Clive had an arrangement with an Austrian woman who had inherited a very chic mansion flat in Maida Vale, it suited them both. At least Aldo enjoyed his money. He owned race horses, gambled quite a bit and sometimes sailed around the Mediterranean in his catamaran. But his sons, despite being millionaires in their own right, always looked as though the bailiffs were about to move in.
    Sam was distracted. After his conversation with Zack in his office he was finding it difficult to clear his head. Sam would go to the ends of the earth for Zack and Zack knew this, but he had always fought shy of